


What Have I Done

by aliensister



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 3x666, Angst, F/M, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 23:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10524573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliensister/pseuds/aliensister
Summary: Takes place in the aftermath of Terry busting the boys, just a big bit of weepy angst. Little bit of character reflection.





	

His exhale was shaky at best as he slid into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him, not that there was anyone left in the house. His brothers were still on the run, Mandy was somewhere and Terry had left with the whore that he had used to try and fuck the gay out of him.

Darkness had fallen hours ago, drenching the house in its inky cover but Mickey doesn’t turn the light on. His eyes are pretty much swollen shut from his father’s fist anyways. 

The small amount of light from the street light coming through the bathroom window is enough for Mickey to hop into the shower. Still naked from activities from before Terry had burst in on them, the pipes shuddered to life and he hissed and jerked away as the scorching water hit his chest. 

His body ached, and gritting his teeth he moved back under the scolding spray. His hands were shaking as he clenched them into fists at his sides. 

‘You’ll thank me for this boy,’ Terry’s words were rolling through his brain and Mickey reached out to hold the shower tile, fingers scratching against the grout as he lifted his face so it felt the nauseating sting of the near boiling water on his cuts and bruises. He pulled back seconds later, unsuccessfully trying to hold back his whimper. 

‘No kid of mine is going to be an aids monkey!’ Mickey’s stomach rolled, he could smell the cheap perfume that she had been wearing. He grabbed the bar of soap that had been sitting in the soap dish that hung off the wall for so long it had cracked, dried edges that scratched his skin as he roughly scrubbed at his arms and chest. 

A low sound rumbled in his throat as he reached back to clean behind, his ass aching in the way he had come to associate with solace and Ian. 

Mickey didn’t manage to catch the sob that ripped through his bruised mouth. 

He had never been so grateful when his father had finally finished with Ian and chucked him out. Mickey had pretended not to watch as Terry threatened him, Ian only casting one last furtive glance in his direction before slinking through the door, still pretty much naked, his clothes balled up in his arms.

He didn’t blame Ian for leaving, getting out as soon as his violent monster of a father has allowed him, he wished he could have left too. Instead he just checked out, staring at that burn hole in the arm of the couch, where Iggy had gotten so high he had forgotten that he still had a lit one in his hand. 

Mickey pretended the water running down his cheeks were from the shower and not fat, salty tears. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, quickly and efficiently washed his junk, which hurt from over use. 

He wished that Ian’s departure had been the end of it, but Terry had made the hooker continue until his dick just refused to work. The last time had even involved the tensest twenty-minute blowjob of Mickey’s short life and still he couldn’t preform. Terry had glared at him before snarling at the Russian to get dressed, snarling that he was going out for a drink. 

Mickey had laid where they left him for what felt like an eternity, concentrating on not crying, thinking about how fucking stupid he had been. Ian’s look of fear and shame and betrayal was burned into the back of his eyelids every time he closed his eyes. 

He should have known better. 

People like Mickey Milkovich don’t get to be happy, do not get a safe haven in the storm. There is only violence, and fear, and hiding, and pain. 

Mickey turned off the water and stepped out of shower, pulling at a towel that he knew was hanging on the rack. He closed his eyes and reached out to flick the light switch on, giving himself a second to adjust before opening them again. 

The damage to his face wasn’t the worst he’d have, not even the worst his dad had done but his insides were a different matter. 

He quickly shut the light off again, unable to look at himself. His bottom lip trembled without his consent and Mickey let out a weak huff, today had been a day of that. 

He quietly skulked to his room, closing the door behind him. He threw a glance at the tallboy beside the door, thinking about shoving it against the door but quickly dismissed the idea. If his dad tried to get in that would only serve to piss him off more and if Mickey was honest, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to move himself, let alone the piece of furniture. 

Sitting tenderly down on his bed Mickey let his head fall, all of this because he slipped, he forgot how dangerous he was, forgot why he hid in the first place. 

“The fuck have I done…”


End file.
